


Heartache

by Lymle (Faize)



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Heartache, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 11:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faize/pseuds/Lymle
Summary: That thing. That thing to which there was Nothing.Something was there again.





	Heartache

**Author's Note:**

> Next link in the chain on the release train is this small piece. I thought maybe if I publish it I'll see a path forward...maybe so.

          "Higgsbury what have you done!" Maxwell shouted, shuddering from the flush of warmth that radiated in his chest.

          "I did say there might be some side effects. You aren't dying now are you?" Wilson's brow furrowed in some mix between amusement and concern, lifting from the nearby worktable a precautionary Telltale-

          "You don't-" Maxwell stumbled.

That thing. That thing to which there was Nothing.

Something was there again.

And it hurt.

          "Ghhhh! My heart..."Maxwell struggled clutching his chest, the blinding white behind his eyes burning ever closer.

          "Maxwell?" Wilson said, dropping the heart and stepping forward just in-time to catch Maxwell's lanky, lithe body against him.

He was so thin and...

Warm?

Moments ago when he'd administered the shot the man's skin was lukewarm at best, unsettlingly like having a lizard for a camp-mate. Given all the unusual traits Maxwell possessed was this bad for Maxwell or something else?

Oh dear. He was very warm.

          "What a pain you are." Wilson sighed, carrying the spindly unconscious man to his bedroll.

           Now, Maxwell often spent a great deal of time lounging about to which Wilson had developed several personal theories when sheer laziness was not sufficient enough. Often, more often than Wilson would like, Maxwell was perusing the Codex, the secret tome to which under no circumstances was Wilson to gaze into. The rules he contrarily imposed as not-king infuriated Wilson to no end and he could sense Maxwell took some sick pleasure in confounding him so. But now there was none of that, nothing but silence and it drove on his nerves.

           Three days. Three days unconscious Wilson had observed Maxwell laying asleep. For a man that never seemed to sleep, Maxwell could keep up well enough, but now that he was asleep Wilson could tell that such consciousness had a cost. One that was now being undone. The physical effects of the medicine had become exceedingly apparent and apart or rather in conjunction with the unconsciousness seemed to be beneficial. The shadows gripping his hands had paled considerably, with his claw-like fingertips now white against grey palms and fingers. The bags under his eyes were gone, wrinkles less deep and there was a general air of vivacity about him that wasn't present before.

//

          "Do what you must, I've no power here."

          "Lies! You must have the power to stop all this!"

          "Higgsbury...even now you're so easy to fool."

          . . .

          "I don't understand. I was on the throne and I felt no urge to do such things."

          "I don't suppose you would have, your little foray on the Throne was mercifully short. You aren't Throne material."

          "..How long were you on that throne Maxwell?"

          "Long enough to turn blood to dust. Go away, Higgsbury." 

//

 

Maxwell's heart pounded in his ears, an unfamiliar sound accompanied by a terrible ringing telling him that he was, in fact, awake where once he had not.

He felt less...himself. Wasn't sleeping supposed to be refreshing? It always seemed to perk up Wilson so why did everything ache?

          "Ah, I see you're awake! Do you feel any different?" Wilson inquired.

          "Unfortunately."

          "...Could you be more specific?" Wilson questioned, pressing his hands together.

          "No."

          "Good to see your ego wasn't damaged in the slightest," Wilson grumbled, shaking his head.

          "Can we get on with this already?" Maxwell scowled. "We're wasting daylight." 

He rose, shakily to his feet just to hurry this along. He hated being questioned and here he was, already weak from sleep. No one would be taking advantage of him again, certainly of all not a curious Wilson.

He turned away only to be met with a strong grip around his right arm that gave him pale reminders of the Throne.

          "I just need to know if you feel any different, if anything happened with the mind like it has with your body." Wilson stated, pointing to Maxwell's hands.

          "What-?" Maxwell murmured, looking down. His hands...they were wrong. There was something wrong in all this, a cruel joke to which he was not privy to. He started shaking. 

He could feel again. Really feel the texture of his fingertips instead of the slick coolness of shadows. He felt vulnerable again, not in the usual, physical sense, but in his mind as well. He didn't care for it.

          Maxwell's chest felt like it was crushing him, there was a Beefalo on his chest and he couldn't breathe. Despair overwhelmed him and he knew how small and weak he was in this world, how insignificant he'd been in the last. Nobody, nothing was here, his insides were lies, this whole world was lies and he'd lost something. It was terribly important, what was it? What else had been taken from him, he had had so little to begin with. What was worth taking from a nobody? Thoughts screamed, incoherent and all at once, inundating him. His knees had long given up and unknowingly he was headfirst in Wilson's hair, held up only by Wilson's strength. Wilson was warm too, though Maxwell only now truly appreciated that fact. Wilson pushed him off soon enough, evidently tired of their awkward contact and looked at Maxwell cautiously.

          Maxwell however, was not yet done contemplating his status in the universe and thus spent several minutes trembling before choking out a half- uttered thanks and walking directly into the forest for the rest of the day to cut wood. He didn't want to speak about it. Never wanted to speak about it more like, but his resolve was a testy thing ,especially in recent times. He'd grown soft in Wilson's presence, even almost talked about Charlie once, though Wilson and been too tired to hear it. He didn't need to hear it, to know the terrible truth about the thing he called the Grue. The wood piled up at his feet as his thoughts continued to swarm him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comment if you have any ideas or suggestions and have a good day.


End file.
